


“Sunshine for Your Love”

by aces



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-13
Updated: 2009-11-13
Packaged: 2020-10-06 02:35:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20499467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aces/pseuds/aces
Summary: Somewhat spoilery for “Blink,” but I’m pretty sure most of us have seen that episode by now. For LJ user pontisbright for the dw_femslash ficathon, who requested among other things Martha/anyone, era- or time-crossing shenanigans, and mentioned that she quite liked Polly.  And, well, who doesn’t?Thanks to LJ user persiflage_1 for fact-checking and knowing Martha’s MySpace blog so well!





	“Sunshine for Your Love”

**Author's Note:**

> Somewhat spoilery for “Blink,” but I’m pretty sure most of us have seen that episode by now. For LJ user pontisbright for the dw_femslash ficathon, who requested among other things Martha/anyone, era- or time-crossing shenanigans, and mentioned that she quite liked Polly. And, well, who doesn’t?  
Thanks to LJ user persiflage_1 for fact-checking and knowing Martha’s MySpace blog so well!

Martha ducked into the club and found the darkest, most secluded, out-of-the-way corner she could. The one least likely to have strangers making out with each other, anyway, as that was _not_ what she was in the mood for. She wanted alcohol, she wanted noise, she wanted to be as far away from the Doctor as possible, but she didn’t actually want company right now.

At first 1969 had been fun. Any different time was fun, Martha had decided pretty early on in her travels with the Doctor, until the alien baddies started attacking or the ship you were on was about to self-destruct or whatever other danger jumped out and grabbed you. It was exciting and different and so much more vibrant and _real_ than any futuristic movie or older person’s reminiscence could suggest.

But they’d been stuck here for weeks now, and she was getting sick of people _looking_ at her—rarely saying anything, but still looking—and she’d just had a shitty day at the shop, and the Doctor had been alternating the past few days between spending hours and hours unresponsive in bed and then running around like a particularly demented Tigger, and she bloody well needed some alcohol to curdle her liver before the night was over.

So Martha got herself a gin and tonic and sat at her cramped table in a dark little corner at the back of the club where nobody else went and tried to relax. She’d been to this club a few times before, situated in the basement of some former office building, and she liked it. People were happy here. Still groovy, instead of the tired disillusionment she’d been noticing more and more the longer they stayed here.

Martha could just begin to feel her muscles losing their tension when somebody slid into the other chair at her table. Martha straightened and tried to glare at the other woman to make her bog off, but the other woman tossed her long blonde hair and batted her long (not-real, surely) eyelashes in a wink and grinned, and Martha found she couldn’t help grinning back.

“That’s better,” the other woman said in satisfaction. “If you’re going to be here, you are categorically not allowed to look that grumpy. There’s a sign at the bar,” she pointed to a slip of paper that Martha would never be able to read from this distance. “I meet more people this way,” the woman went on.

“Joining them uninvited at their tables, you mean?” Martha couldn’t help the acerbic tone.

“Cheering them up out of their doldrums,” the other woman rolled her blue eyes, and Martha couldn’t help laughing at the expression on the other woman’s face. “My name’s Polly,” she added. “What’s yours?”

“Martha,” answered Martha.

“Well then, Martha, let me buy you another drink, and then you shall tell me why you’re trying to ruin a perfectly good evening out by sitting back here by yourself.”

“Are you sure?” While Martha already liked this woman, she was still unwilling to give up her evening of sulking. “What about your friends, aren’t they going to wonder what happened to you?” Martha couldn’t imagine this woman showing up here by herself.

“Oh, them.” Polly waved a dismissive hand. “I doubt they’ll even remember if I came with them tonight or not; we usually meet up in a large crowd and wander off in our separate directions eventually. Besides,” she added, leaning forward confidentially, “they’re being rather tedious tonight, and you look like you’ll be far more fun than they will.”

“Me?” Martha said in disbelief. “Fun? Tonight?”

“Oh yes,” Polly said decisively. “You and I are going to have a marvelous night. I can tell already.” She jumped up. “I’m getting us a bottle.”

Martha sat back in her chair, shaking her head. This was definitely not the way she had envisioned her evening going, but she could feel her energy returning, Polly’s good mood infecting her, and she didn’t quite feel a need anymore to be left alone.

Polly returned with a bottle of newly-opened red and two wine glasses and ceremoniously poured for them both. She handed Martha a glass and raised her own. “To new friendships,” she said in a deepened voice, mock-solemnity, and Martha burst out laughing again.

“Cheers,” she said, and clinked glasses with Polly.

Polly was charming and opinionated and funny, and that long hair of hers was like a constant flash of sunshine in this dim, night-and-smoke-filled bar. Martha felt her tension completely disappear as she sat and chatted and giggled with the other woman. They talked about clothes, and silly moments with their friends, and what was worth dying for, and annoying people at work—Martha had loads to say about the shop—and boys, and music, and the meaning of life, and the best places to get Italian, and other such important matters. After a few hours she realized in surprise that a) it was time to leave as the club was shutting down and b) they had worked their way through two bottles of wine.

“Oooh,” Martha said as she stood up and swayed. “I think, I think I should not have had that last glass.”

“Or possibly the last three?” Polly suggested with a mischievous grin, then winced when she also stood up. She clutched at her head. “Oh dear.”

“Definitely time for water,” Martha decided as she led the way—slowly—up the stairs and out of the club into the late night cool March air. She breathed deeply and slowly as she waited for the world to stop tilting in that overly dramatic way.

“We can get some at my place,” Polly offered from behind Martha, and she turned around to consider the other woman.

“I should probably get back,” Martha said. “My roommate will be wondering what happened to me.” She’d told Polly a bit about her friend she’d been traveling with, the really annoying prat who was absolutely wonderful but couldn’t see the nose in front of his own face—in exchange, Polly had told her about her friend Ben, sweet and loyal and annoyingly stubborn and prickly when he should just take a joke—but she hadn’t mentioned the Doctor’s name. It seemed safer, somehow. Saying his name was like—like starting something, the Universe sitting up and taking notice. And while she might be bored and restless in 1969, she didn’t actually want to start any trouble.

“I don’t have a roommate,” Polly mentioned casually.

“But you’ve got water,” Martha said.

“Oh yes.” Her new friend probably would have nodded vigorously if it weren’t for how her head felt. Her eyes were very blue under the street light, and her blonde hair glinted. She was watching Martha closely, her eyebrows arched and the tiniest beginning to a smirk hovering around her lips.

“Oh, what the hell,” Martha said suddenly, “let’s go back to your place. I’m having too much fun to go back to that flat yet.”

Polly grinned brilliantly and offered her arm. Martha took it and they trooped off to find a cab.

They sat close together in the back of the taxi, still laughing, the world still swaying. “I wanted to curdle my liver tonight,” Martha said at one point, “but I’m not sure I wanted to do _this_ much damage,” and Polly couldn’t stop giggling for two minutes after that.

They went up to Polly’s flat and sprawled out on her couch. “Water,” Polly said after a moment of them both simply lying there and breathing.

“Yes,” Martha said, “we definitely need water.” She forced herself to sit up, pushing Polly’s legs out of the way. “C’mon, lead the way.” She patted Polly’s arm encouragingly.

Polly finally sat up as well and led Martha into the tiny kitchen, pulling down two glasses from a cupboard and running the tap until the water was well and truly cold. She filled both glasses and handed one to Martha.

“Didn’t I tell you this would be a fun evening?” Polly tilted her head to one side, studying Martha, her blue eyes bright.

“Yes, you did,” Martha nodded slowly. “I will never disbelieve you again.”

“Good,” said Polly and set down her glass. Then she set down Martha’s glass and leaned in to kiss her.

Martha wrapped her arms around Polly, pulling her in closer and deepening the kiss. _Definitely_ not the way she’d expected the evening to end when she’d stalked into that bar earlier, but she certainly wasn’t going to complain.

They stumbled back to the couch in the other room, Martha ending on top of Polly. Polly blinked her eyes wide when she fell backwards onto the sofa, and she looked around in surprise. “This isn’t the bedroom,” she said, and Martha had to start laughing again.

The water and cool night air had helped them both; the world tilted now only because Martha wanted it to. Eventually they did make it to the bedroom, minus whatever clothing they’d been wearing. “I’m training to be a doctor, you know,” Martha murmured as she kissed a trail between Polly’s breasts and down her belly.

“Oh yes” Polly said, wrapping those deliciously long legs of hers around Martha. “Have you the hands of a surgeon?”

“Would you care to find out?”

“Wouldn’t I just,” said Polly.

*

Martha woke the next morning to the sound of somebody putting the kettle on. “Mmpf,” she said, rolling over in the bed. She didn’t open her eyes yet. She wanted to enjoy the quiet for a bit longer, the feel of the sheets and that tiny bit of sunlight trying to drift in through the window above her. She hadn’t felt this relaxed in months.

“Wake up, sleepyhead!” she heard a singsong voice from the hallway, and she sighed.

A minute later, she showed up in the kitchen, sheepish in yesterday’s clothes and hoping her hair was not sticking straight up on one side like she had a horrible feeling it was. Polly was dancing around the narrow space to a song in her head, pulling down tea mugs and sugar and milk out of the small refrigerator. She looked fabulous, of course. “Hi?” Martha said.

“There you are!” Polly gave her an enthusiastic kiss. “Would you care for some tea?”

“I would love some tea,” Martha said. She tried not to sound too fervent.

“Good, as I don’t really have much else in the flat to offer,” was Polly’s frank reply, and Martha found herself laughing again. Nobody had made her laugh this much in far too long. Polly grinned at her and handed over a mug. They wandered into the living room to sit down.

“I had a really good time last night,” Martha started.

“I told you you would.” Polly was charmingly smug. It was Martha’s turn to roll her eyes.

“The thing is, I’m not sure for how much longer I’m in London,” Martha went on carefully. She wrapped both hands around her tea mug and blew on it to give herself a moment. “My friend and I, we usually don’t stick around _this_ long.”

“Is your friend a sailor?”

“Er, not exactly,” Martha said. “Why?”

“Because I’ve known my share of travelers,” Polly said, “and they never like to sit still very long. That said, you and I are both here now, and we might as well enjoy it, don’t you think?”

“Yeah,” Martha said with a slow grin, “alright.”

They exchanged phone numbers right before Martha slipped out, and Martha promised to call the following day, and followed the promise up with a really thorough snog. And then she tripped downstairs and went off to find the Doctor and fob him off with some excuse about why she hadn’t come back the night before.

She had every intention of calling Polly the next day, but the TARDIS appeared suddenly, and they ran to catch it, and like in so many other things that happened—or failed to happen—around the Doctor, she never got the chance.

*

_Forty years later in one way; just a few years later in another_

Martha sat at a little table in the back of the coffee shop, sipping her latte and enjoying the peace and quiet before she went in to the chaos that was work. A song was playing on the speaker system that she hadn’t heard since 1969, and she smiled as she texted something to Tom about dinner that night.

Somebody sat down in the other seat at her table. “We really must stop running into each other like this,” the other person said, and Martha looked up from her mobile in surprise. The voice sounded vaguely familiar, but she couldn’t quite place it.

The woman across from her was in her mid-sixties probably, with laugh lines around her blue eyes and her long blonde hair fading. Martha stared hard at her but couldn’t place her at all, and then the woman smiled slowly and tossed her hair and winked, and Martha gasped.

“I was going to call you!” she blurted out and then clapped her hand over her mouth. Polly—it _had_ to be Polly—laughed delightedly and reached across to take Martha’s hand and squeeze it.

“It’s perfectly alright,” she said. “You obviously got waylaid by events. The TARDIS, perhaps?”

Martha blinked. “How did you know?”

“I didn’t,” Polly confessed, “not back then, though I probably wondered with all your cryptic comments about your friend the traveler. He just didn’t sound at all like my Doctor, either of them, which, really, how silly of me since I’d seen him regenerate! I had no clue, though. Not until I walked into this coffee shop this morning and saw you back here looking almost _exactly_ the way you did forty years ago.” Polly shook her head ruefully and pulled her hand away from Martha’s. “This is a terrible way to make a lady feel her age, you know.”

“You? You’re not old!” Martha put down her phone. “I’m sorry, that didn’t come out the way I meant it to—”

Polly laughed again. “I know, and thank you. I think.”

Martha took Polly’s hand again. “I—I don’t even know where to begin! How are you? How have you been? What have you—”

“Oh no you don’t!” Polly wagged a finger. “I refuse to answer twenty questions before I’ve had my coffee.”

“I have to go to work,” Martha glanced down at the clock on her mobile fretfully. “Can we meet up later, catch up, have a chat?” She looked at Polly again. “I know we’ve got loads to talk about. Would you—would you like to do that?”

Polly studied her, and Martha suddenly remembered something Polly’s tongue had done that night in 1969, and she felt every inch of her skin heat up in a flash. Polly grinned mischievously, as though her own thoughts had followed exactly where Martha's had led. “Yes, I rather think I would like that. Here’s my mobile number,” she scribbled some numbers on Martha’s napkin and slid it back across the table. “And you rather seem to be more settled this time without a TARDIS to whisk you away so I fully expect you to call me. Is that understood?”

“Absolutely,” Martha grinned, letting go of Polly’s hand to tuck the napkin into her messenger bag. “Expect to hear from me again within a day.”

The barista called out a drink order, and Polly glanced back at the pick-up counter. She turned back to Martha to grin as she stood, and Martha remembered the gleam of blonde hair like a flash of sunshine in a dim night-and-smoke filled club. “I’ll hold you to that,” Polly said. She winked again as she turned away, and Martha found herself, once again, laughing.


End file.
